The Desolation of Fenchurch East
by Jazzola
Summary: Her eyes, bloodshot and weary from days of hiding, surveyed the area, tears beginning to tumble from her cheeks as she saw the destruction, the wrecked expanse of street... A little one-shot, dark but light later. Please read and review!


Alex's bare feet stumbled over the crumbled rocks and bricks lying desolately on the pockmarked tarmac in front of the once majestic Fenchurch Scrubs. Her eyes, bloodshot and weary from days of hiding, surveyed the area, tears beginning to tumble from her cheeks as she saw the destruction, the wrecked expanse of street, the corpses lying like carelessly discarded, deathly still dolls in front of her eyes, a light breeze ruffling their shredded, blood-soaked uniforms, tousling their ragged, tangled, crimson-infused hair. The eyes of the spiritless men, wide open, fixed with a terrible barrenness on the immensity of the scarlet, smoke-stained sky, were faded and milky, blinded in their eternal sleep, and Alex found herself tiptoeing past carcasses, her mind knowing nothing of her direction but her feet somehow aware of the way; cold fingertips brushed the hem of her skirt, the lifeless nerves sending no messages to the frozen brains but the stiff skin rough and hard on her legs.

Alex did not know what had happened, and yet she knew somehow; the massacre burning into her irises did not need to be explained.

One corpse caught her eye, and she turned, startled, her disbelieving eyes widening in horror and shock.

Lying on the ground in front of her was Ray Carling, his stomach torn open by gunshot fire, entrails laid far and wide on the blood-bathed ground, sightless eyes dyed with scarlet liquid. Alex screamed, a horrified, dark shriek of helplessness and dismay, at the sight of his corpse, bereft of the animation she had known for so long. Lying next to him was his gun, the pistol she had seen him use countless times in hard-to-handle police situations; discharged and splattered gravely with Ray's life blood. The mere sight of it, supine and redundant next to its sleeping master, was enough to make Alex cry out a second time, her fists clenching, her mind unable to take in the full chill of the scene.

Lurching away from Ray's body, Alex's line of sight found two more corpses, entwined, blank faces turned towards each other: Chris and Shaz, almost peaceful in eternal slumber, scarlet strewn over them and lacing their ripped clothes, snail-trails of macabre liquid snaking like tear tracks from wounds resembling bright valleys in their lily-pale skin.

Bile rose in Alex's throat; their deceased faces were almost too awful for her to comprehend, the enormity of their deaths like a blocked chasm in her dry throat, and as realisation began to dawn on her marred and fogged brain she gasped out loud, her feet dragging away from Chris and Shaz, heading towards a new corpse, all too recognisable, all too horrible…

Alex's scream was harrowing as her terrified eyes, wanting so hard not to take in the sight that they were being so harshly given, refused to be torn away from the sight of the maimed, ripped body, so stark and sickening and lifeless and yet peaceful and calm, that she recognised instantly as Gene Hunt.

Alex wasn't conscious of crossing the macabre ground, or the scarlet droplets gently oozing onto her feet from the saturated ground; she was only aware of her trembling, pale fingers reaching out, touching the rough, benumbed skin, the expressionless face, the eyes lacking the sparkle and life and warmth they had gladly housed before, the mortal wounds to his wearied body repugnant blemishes on the cadaverous sheen of his inert flesh. Her shaking hand traced an undesigned pattern on his cold cheek, her vision blurring as sorry diamonds fell from her eyes, quavering sobs spilling from her lips into the deathly air.

Her conscious still numbed with grief, Alex gently bent her head to Gene's sleeping lips, pressing the gentlest of kisses to them, gleaming tears tumbling onto his emotionless face as Alex knew that these lips would never kiss back again.

"NO!"

Alex sat bolt upright in bed, chill sweat streaming off her forehead, the sight of Gene's cold corpse still in her eyes but her body in a familiar warm bed.

Slowly, Alex's ears registered another sound in the room apart from her rapid breathing; the slow, uninhibited sound of another chest rising and falling.

Turning almost hesitantly, Alex found the second occupant of the bed, sleeping soundly, unaware of her outburst; Gene was on his side, the duvet bunched around his legs, his eyes closed and his mouth slightly open as he slept, golden hair shining softly in the moonlight from the open curtains. Alex gasped out loud, her relief flowing through her, a warm river of happiness and thankfulness.

Lying down and snuggling up next to him, one hand idly weaving through his silky mane and the other curled round his arm, Alex sighed at herself, making a quiet vow in the tranquillity of the early morning.

"Note to self: do _not _watch "They Died With Their Boots On" just before going to bed!"

THE END

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A/N: Please, please review, as I love love love reviews! Little bit of nice repetition there XD Thanks so much for reading, and I hope you enjoyed it! Jazzola :)


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